Page 40 of Awakened Destiny (The Dark Ascendant #3)

Laria

Thirteen steps left to right. Thirteen steps right to left. The rhythm of my pacing matches the pounding in my chest as I cross my room for the hundredth time. The Council failed. They fucking failed. Brigid lives.

I grab a ceramic figurine from my desk and hurl it against the wall. It shatters, the sound echoing my thoughts.

"Useless Council. Useless!" My voice bounces off the stone walls of my private room, the only privilege left to me now. "You had one job."

"Control yourself, Laria," I whisper. "Think."

I drop onto the edge of my bed, fingers digging into the silk covers. The Morrigan's power runs through Brigid's veins now. The untouchable goddess-bitch with her shadow magic, breaking every rule while they cheer her on.

The memory of seeing her in the dining hall burns. Her mousy face transformed as she sat with those fucking fawning idiots. And Callen had the nerve to make her his queen. That should have been me.

I pace again, nails digging crescents into my palms. Years of careful planning, perfect grades, perfect control. I earned my place. She stumbled into hers.

They should fear me. Not her.

My fingers find the spine of the book hidden beneath my mattress—small, bound in aged leather too smooth to be animal hide. The book I stole from the restricted section of the archives three nights ago.

I pull it out, my thumb caressing the cover with its single ruby set into the center. No title. No markings. Just ancient power humming beneath my fingertips.

"There's always a way," I whisper. I flip through yellowed pages, the spidery script dancing before my vampire eyes. The language is ancient—older than my sire, older than the Council itself—but I've deciphered enough.

Blood magic.

A knock at my door makes me slam the book shut.

"What?" I snarl.

The door remains closed. Whoever it is knows better than to enter uninvited.

I return to the book, finding the passage I marked with a thread of my own hair. The ritual requires precision, sacrifice. Power calls to power. The diagrams show what happens when the caster succeeds, and when they fail. The failures aren't pretty.

But I won't fail. She's nothing compared to me—Brigid is a nobody with stolen power.

An icy shard settles in my chest. The Council was supposed to execute her, and they failed. Now even the rebels whisper her name like she's their salvation.

I'm running out of time.

The book details the steps: the circles drawn in blood, the words to speak, the life to take. Simple enough, if you have the stomach for it. The elixir requires fresh blood from someone with elemental power. And the price...

Well, what's a piece of my soul compared to destroying Brigid?

I trace the diagram with my fingertip. The book promises power beyond imagining. Power enough to challenge a god. Power enough to tear shadow magic from Brigid's body and make it mine. I've lived too long to be forgotten. Too long to be replaced.

"Go away!" The knock comes again, more insistent. "Failed," I whisper, digging my nails into my palms until blood wells up. "The mighty Council couldn't kill one girl."

I lick the blood from my palm, tasting copper and rage. The Council has hunted shadow magic users for centuries. They built their power on that fear. And now? They're exposed as weak, pathetic frauds.

But I saw this coming. I prepared.

"I won't make their mistake," I mutter to the empty room.

Blood magic isn't like other magic. It doesn't flow from nature or ancestry. It consumes. It corrupts. It breaks bodies and twists minds.

Most practitioners die screaming, their veins bursting as power floods in too fast. But I'm not most practitioners. I've survived by being smarter, ruthless. She thinks because she has the Morrigan's power that she ’ s untouchable.

Power can be taken.

Outside my window, I spot a flash of fire—Nester practicing in the courtyard. His flames dance between his fingers, bright and pure. He's powerful. Young. Perfect.

The plan forms like ice crystals spreading across glass.

He'll come if I call. They always do.

***

I drag my rug from the center of the room, revealing the dark wooden floorboards. The space feels larger, emptier. Better for what comes next.

"The blood must flow in five directions," I read aloud, fingertips tracing the faded diagrams. "North for strength, south for control, east for vision, west for transformation, and center for the conduit's soul."

I gather five black candles from my dresser drawer, arranging them in the cardinal positions. My hands work methodically while my mind races with possibilities. When this is done, I'll be stronger than Brigid could ever dream. The shadow rebels who flock to her will kneel before me instead. I remove a small, jeweled dagger from its velvet sheath. The blade catches the light, ancient markings etched along its silver surface.

"Perfect symmetry," I whisper, marking the points on the floor with chalk. Precise measurements matter. Blood magic demands perfection.

"Laria? Are you in there?" Eira's soft voice filters through the wood.

I freeze, chalk hovering above the floor. Fucking owl girl. "Not now, Eira. I'm busy."

"I need to talk to you," she persists.

What a waste of time getting close to her was. She knew nothing, at least nothing she ’ d tell me. Now she ’ s like an irritating insect that won ’ t leave me alone. I ’ ll have to deal with her when I ’ ve finished with Brigid. I told her too much when I was trying to get her on my side.

"Come back tomorrow."

"I know what you took from the archives, Laria."

Shit. How does she know? I rise slowly, dusting chalk from my hands. I stride to the door and yank it open, startling her. "You have two minutes."

Eira stands in the hall. Those too-big eyes dart past me, trying to see into my room.

"I saw you," she whispers, hands fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater. "In the archives. I saw what you took."

I lean against the doorframe, blocking her view. "So what if I did?"

She shifts her weight from one foot to another. "The blood ritual isn't worth it, Laria. My grandmother used to tell stories about vampires who tried it. None of them remained... themselves afterward."

"Touching that you're concerned." I smile, showing just enough fang to make her step back. "I didn't realize we were such close friends."

"We're not. But that doesn't mean—"

"That you should mind your own business? Exactly." My patience wears thin. Behind me, the chalk markings call out, demanding completion. Time is running short. "If you're done, I have things to do."

"Is this about Brigid?" Her voice trembles but holds steady.

"I laugh, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "Let's not pretend you care about her. You betrayed her faster than anyone."

Eira's face pales. "That's not—"

"Fair? True? Does it matter?" I glance back at my room, at the half-finished ritual circle. "The Council failed. I won't."

"Please," she says, reaching for my arm. "The texts call it 'soul-splitting magic' for a reason. It takes more than blood—it takes pieces of who you are."

I jerk away from her touch. "Maybe I'm willing to pay that price."

Eira's shoulders slump. She looks defeated, those owl eyes blinking slowly. "She was my friend once. Before my family made me—"

"Save the sob story. Your family knew which side to choose. Smart of them, really." I check the time. The ritual requires alignment with midnight. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

She doesn ’ t budge.

“ I won ’ t let you do this,” she whispers.

That ’ s it. My patience snaps.

I push the girl with a force that sends her stumbling back into the hallway. She catches herself against the wall, but I ’ m already moving, my vampiric speed blurring me into motion before she can react. I grab her by the front of her sweater and shove her against the wall, my face inches from hers.

"Listen closely, you pathetic nothing," I hiss, my voice low and venomous. "You think you can stop me? You think your guilt over betraying Brigid gives you the right to interfere with my plans? You're nothing. A weakling who can't even stand by her own choices."

Eira's eyes widen, her breath coming in shallow gasps. I can smell her fear, and it only fuels my rage.

"I... I won't let you hurt her again," she stammers, her voice trembling.

I laugh, a cold, cruel sound that echoes down the empty hallway. "You won't let me? You don't have the power to stop me, Eira. And after tonight, neither will Brigid."

I release her with a shove, and she stumbles back.

Before she can respond, I slam the door shut and lock it.